Chapter 3 - THE FATHER WHO CHOSE THE LIE
Ava watched the footage four times.
Each time, she hoped the image would change.
It didn't.
Richard Whitmore stood beside the piano bench in the Aurelia ballroom. He looked around, opened his daughter's clutch, and placed the diamond necklace inside.
He did it carefully.
Deliberately.
Then he closed the bag.
The entire act took eleven seconds.
Ava pressed her fingertips against her mouth.
“My father knew.”
Niko remained beside her.
“Yes.”
“He knew I hadn't stolen anything.”
“Yes.”
“And he still told me to apologize.”
Niko said nothing.
Ava wished he would.
She wanted him to explain that Richard had been threatened, manipulated, confused.
Anything.
But the footage showed a man who understood exactly what he was doing.
“He used to make pancakes on Sundays,” she whispered.
Niko looked at her.
“When Mom was alive. He'd burn the first one every time. She'd tease him and eat it anyway.”
Ava laughed once.
It broke halfway through.
“After she died, he stopped making them.”
She looked back at the screen.
“I kept thinking he was grieving.”
Niko lowered his voice.
“Perhaps he was.”
“Does grief make you hate your child?”
“No.”
The simplicity of the answer hurt.
Ava stood.
“I need to leave.”
“Where?”
“Home.”
Niko glanced at the damaged dress.
“Are you certain?”
“I need my mother's notebooks.”
“Will they let you take them?”
Ava hesitated.
The notebooks were in a locked cabinet in the old laundry room.
She had kept them hidden from Victoria for years.
“I don't know.”
Niko picked up his phone.
“I'll have a driver take you.”
“I don't want your men frightening everyone.”
“They can remain outside.”
She studied him.
“You're accustomed to people agreeing with you.”
“Yes.”
“I'm not going to.”
Something flickered in his expression.
“I'm beginning to understand that.”
***
The Whitmore mansion stood behind iron gates in Westchester, surrounded by clipped hedges and security cameras.
Ava had lived there since she was ten.
It had never felt like home.
The driver stopped near the side entrance.
Ava insisted on entering alone.
Inside, the house smelled of lilies and expensive furniture polish.
Victoria waited in the foyer.
Still wearing her silver gala gown.
“You've made a catastrophic mistake.”
Ava kept walking.
“Move.”
Victoria stepped in front of her.
“You have no idea what kind of man Niko Moretti is.”
“I know what kind of woman you are.”
Victoria slapped her.
The sound echoed against the marble.
Ava stood still.
She had expected anger.
The physical blow surprised her.
Then something remarkable happened.
She didn't apologize.
She didn't lower her eyes.
She simply looked at Victoria and said, “Don't ever touch me again.”
Victoria's face changed.
“You ungrateful little—”
“Where's Dad?”
“In his study.”
Ava walked past her.
Richard sat behind his desk with a glass of whiskey.
He looked older than he had that morning.
“Ava.”
She closed the door.
“I saw the video.”
His fingers tightened around the glass.
“What video?”
“The one where you put Bianca's necklace in my bag.”
Silence.
Richard looked toward the window.
Ava waited.
Finally he said, “I was protecting this family.”
“From what?”
“From people you don't understand.”
“By making me look like a thief?”
“You were never supposed to be arrested.”
She stared.
“That makes it better?”
“Bianca was supposed to confront you, you would apologize, and the situation would end.”
“Why?”
Richard rubbed his forehead.
“Because Victoria needed you discredited.”
Ava's breath caught.
He looked up sharply, realizing what he'd admitted.
“Why?” she repeated.
Richard stood.
“Some things are more complicated than they appear.”
“Then explain them.”
“I can't.”
“Won't.”
His face hardened.
“Ava, you have lived comfortably in this house for thirteen years.”
She laughed.
“Comfortably?”
“You've never gone hungry.”
“Is that the standard?”
“I gave you everything.”
“You gave Bianca my work.”
Richard looked away.
“You allowed Victoria to put her name on designs I created.”
“Bianca needed a career.”
“And I didn't?”
“She had expectations.”
Ava stared.
“What did I have?”
He said nothing.
She felt the answer settle between them.
Nothing.
She had been expected to need nothing.
Ava turned toward the door.
“I'm taking Mom's notebooks.”
Richard's expression changed.
“No.”
She stopped.
“Why?”
“They belong to the estate.”
“Her estate?”
“Yes.”
“Then why have they been locked in my room for years?”
He stepped around the desk.
“Ava, listen to me carefully. Whatever Niko Moretti has promised you, do not give him that key.”
She felt the gold pressing against her palm inside the coat pocket.
“What does it open?”
Richard went pale.
“You found it?”
She said nothing.
He moved toward her.
“Ava, give it to me.”
“No.”
“Your mother died because of that key.”
The words struck her harder than Victoria's slap.
“What?”
Richard's eyes filled.
“For eighteen years, I've tried to keep you away from the same people who killed her.”
Ava stared.
“Who killed Mom?”
He looked toward the door.
Then whispered:
“Victoria knows.”
***
Ava left the study before Richard could stop her.
She climbed the back staircase to the laundry room.
Her old bedroom was exactly as she'd left it.
A narrow bed.
A sewing table.
A shelf of secondhand books.
The cabinet stood beside the window.
She unlocked it.
Empty.
Every notebook was gone.
Ava stared.
She checked the drawers.
Nothing.
Even the small tin holding Eleanor's measuring tape had disappeared.
Then she noticed a folded sheet of paper on the table.
Bianca's handwriting.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT THE DEAD ALONE.
Below it was a photograph.
Eleanor Monroe lay unconscious on a hospital bed.
Beside her stood Victoria.
And in the background, reflected in a window, stood Richard Whitmore.
Ava turned the photograph over.
A date had been written in blue ink.
November 16.
Two days after Eleanor's supposed death.
Ava's hands began shaking.
Her mother had been alive two days after the date on her death certificate.
She grabbed her phone.
Called Niko.
He answered immediately.
“Ava?”
She couldn't speak.
“Ava, where are you?”
“My mother…”
She swallowed.
“My mother didn't die when they said she did.”
A long silence.
Then Niko said, “Get out of that house.”
“Why?”
“Because Matteo just found something.”
“What?”
“Someone has been paying to keep a woman named Eleanor Monroe in a private medical facility for eighteen years.”
Ava stopped breathing.
“Where?”
Niko's voice changed.
“That's what we're trying to determine.”
Ava looked at the photograph again.
The woman on the bed had her mother's face.
And suddenly the most terrible possibility of all entered her mind.
May you like
Maybe Eleanor Monroe had never died.
---
